


The Wedding

by clairvoyantvoyeur



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairvoyantvoyeur/pseuds/clairvoyantvoyeur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A'var was born in Keroon Hold, and leaving it to Impress his green Fenith was the best thing that had ever happened to him. No more hiding. No more shame. He was finally comfortable being himself, and to go back to feeling ashamed of everything he was—even for a day—was not exactly appealing. Especially not when the trade-off was a miserable return to Keroon Hold to watch his first crush marry his older sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I know lots of people don't like to talk about homophobia on Pern, but considering the heavy implications of it in several books (as well as the blatant homophobia toward Xhinna in Todd's books) I think it's plenty fair to say there's room for it to have developed weaker and stronger throughout the 2000-ish time period the books cover. This story is somewhere in between the Third and Ninth Passes, so after Todd's books and before Lessa and F'lar's time.
> 
> A'var is a character I've had tumbling around in my head for a while. He's got a short chapter of his (disastrous) coming out up on FF, but for the purposes of this story, that doesn't exist. Necessary changes were made between then and now, and I think it turned out stronger for it. I hope you enjoy!

Not for the first time since A'var had graduated to the Weyr's fighting wings, he wondered if it had been such a good idea to let R'lon talk him into this. He'd only just gotten comfortable with his new wingmates when an invitation arrived calling him back to his home Hold, and R'lon, stubborn brownrider that he was, wouldn't hear of him refusing.

It had taken A'var months before he could listen to the other Weyrbred riders flirt without blushing, and longer than that before he stopped tripping over himself when the handsomer blue- and brown-riders looked his way. Enough of them flirted with him now that he could give as good as he got, and with his green Fenith's wholehearted approval and encouragement, he'd had his first lover.

He was finally comfortable being himself, and to go back to feeling ashamed of everything he was—even for a day—was not exactly appealing. Especially not when the trade-off was a miserable return to Keroon Hold to watch his first crush marry his older sister. The very thought of it had A'var groaning and pulling the bed furs over his head.

"Stop whining, A'var," R'lon said from across the room, his voice partially muffled by the mahogany dress shirt he was pulling on. "And put your clothes on. We're going to be late if you don't get a move on."

A'var tightened his hold on the furs and coughed pathetically.

"Can't. I'm sick."

_No, you aren't._ Fenith's voice slipped into his head as easily as water, plainly amused at his weak excuse. _You're not a very good liar._

R'lon snorted and rolled his eyes at the greenrider, unaware of the dragon's comment.

"You're an awful liar, did you know that?" he said. "Ah, Miniath says Fenith's just told you the same thing. Trust that brown lout to know."

"You're all conspiring against me," A'var moaned. " _Hey!_ "

A'var surged up and grasped at the furs that were suddenly being jerked away. R'lon was grinning, holding them just out of reach, and A'var felt Fenith's mirth envelop him.

"Give those back!"

"Uh-uh," R'lon said, taking three steps backward. "You get this back after you make yourself decent, and only so you can make the bed neatly before we leave."

"You live to torture me," A'var said, tugging one hand irritably through his thick, sandy blond hair. "Fine. You win. I'm up."

"Good. Now put these on. You spent long enough picking them out; you may as well wear them."

A'var caught the bundle of clothes R'lon tossed at him and held up the gold and emerald shirt. He grimaced.

"Did I really pick something this flashy?" he asked, idly fingering the gold leaves embroidered at each wrist.

"Yes, with a little help," R'lon said. "It matches Fenith's hide."

_You look nice in it when you stand next to me._ Fenith sounded more than a little proud of that; she was irrepressibly vain, and A'var couldn't help smiling a bit. Perhaps she wouldn't be if he didn't compliment her all the time, but he couldn't exactly help that. She did have the best coloring of Igen Weyr's dragons, after all.

A'var sighed dramatically and heaved himself to his feet, shucking shirt and pants as he went.

"Guess I'll have to wear it, then," he said. "I can't miss an opportunity to show you off to the Hold, eh, Fenith?"

_Certainly not!_

"And while you're showing off Fenith," R'lon said, eyeing him up and down appreciatively, "I'll be showing off you. Someone has to let those holders know what they missed out on."

A'var snorted and started pulling on his dress pants.

"Like they care," he muttered. "They all pretend I'm not Keroon born and bred, as if I'm something to be ashamed of. It's a good thing I Impressed Fenith when I did, I suppose, or—"

R'lon grabbed A'var's arm abruptly before he could finish and pulled the younger rider around to face him. The brownrider's eyes bored into A'var's own, shining with an intensity usually reserved for the nights spent tangled in each other's arms.

" _Hey_. Cut that out, A'var. You belong here, and not just because some stupid holders couldn't keep their prejudices to themselves. You're needed here, with Fenith and with me, and there's not a damn thing for you to be ashamed of. You hear me?"

A'var's mouth quirked into a faint, wry smile, and R'lon pressed their foreheads together, not once breaking eye contact.

"Good. Now that I've got that into your head," R'lon continued, a slow smile spreading on his face, "can we please go and shove it in those idiot holders' faces how little their opinions matter and how utterly happy you are just the way you are?"

A'var couldn't help grinning widely then, and closed the distance between their lips in a chaste kiss.

"It's really hard to be bitter when you keep cheering me up," he said. "Thanks."

R'lon finally released him and stepped away.

"Anytime. Now hurry up. Gather food is always better when it's fresh."

He gave A'var a parting slap on his still-bare shoulder before moving into the connected weyr where Fenith and Miniath were waiting. A'var shook his head and resumed dressing.

 

* * *

 

The Keroon Gather was in full swing when Miniath and Fenith burst into the clear blue sky. A string of dragons of all colors from the other Weyrs had settled on the fireheights; those that weren't napping in the mid-morning sun bugled a greeting to the two newcomers, watching through whirling eyes as the brown and green dragons spiraled down to the Hold's main courtyard. There was just enough room for the two of them if Miniath kept his wings tightly furled.

"We had to land in full sight of everyone, didn't we?" A'var muttered, peering out at the crowd through the dust kicked up by the dragons' landing.

_Of course. If the holders didn't mean for you to be seen, they wouldn't have invited you specifically._ A'var chuckled humorlessly. Fenith's certainty in her rider's personal importance to the Hold was so absolute. He decided not to remind her that he'd only been invited because of his blood relation to the bride, and even then only as a formality. They’d all been perfectly happy to see the back of their one shameful abnormality when he was chosen on Search.

Instead, he dismounted quickly, giving Fenith's shoulder an affectionate thump before moving to the courtyard's outer edge. He was joined a moment later by R'lon, and the air was filled once again with dust kicked up by dragon wings.

"Think everyone got a good look at us?" R'lon asked, a sly grin splitting his face in half. "Bet we made a sight."

A'var snorted.

"Everyone was probably too busy at the races to notice," he countered. "Or didn't you realize runners outrank even dragonriders at Keroon?"

"Oh no, I didn't mean _everyone_ everyone." R'lon turned his companion around to face the Hold proper. "I meant them."

The small smile that had started on A'var's face faded almost immediately. A small crowd of men dressed in finery a step up from that warranted by a Gather was making their way over from the bottom of the stairs. All eyes were on the two dragonriders, and suddenly A'var was grateful for his flashy shirt. He hadn't known any of the holders in Keroon besides the Lord's family even owned such rich clothes.

One very tan, broad young man in a suit of stark white and bright, sunny yellow stepped forward with an eager smile. His dark hair was grown out and tied in a neat braid, and his clothes clearly outshone those of everyone else present. A journeyman Beastcrafter's knot was displayed on his left sleeve, and A'var was suddenly very aware of how much time had passed since he'd left to join the Weyr.

"Is that Avarril I see?" the man called brightly. "Ah, excuse me. You'll be A'var now, won't you?"

A'var couldn't tell if the slip was intentional or not. He hadn't heard his old name in years, not since he'd Impressed Fenith and become a dragonrider. He forced a tense smile onto his face.

"I hardly recognized you, Farlor," he said. "It's been a while."

"Indeed it has." The two clasped hands briefly, and A'var was proud when the tight squeezing of his heart lasted no more than a moment.

In that time, the whole crowd had nearly enveloped him and R'lon. He was pleased to recognize nearly every face, but when no one but Farlor could hold his gaze for more than a few moments, he wondered again if it wouldn't have been better for everyone if he'd just stayed at the Weyr. He didn't even have the excuse of exchanging greetings with his sister, Kerranis; all the women would be inside the Hold getting ready until the actual ceremony. He wouldn't see her a moment sooner, and he doubted there'd be much time for them to reminisce afterward.

"And you must be one of A'var's friends," Farlor continued, turning to R'lon for the first time.

A'var held his breath, but the other rider merely smiled and nodded.

"R'lon, brown Miniath's rider," he introduced himself. "A'var talks about Keroon so often, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to come see it for myself. My congratulations to you and your betrothed."

A light blush colored Farlor's cheeks. Abruptly, the pang in A'var's heart returned, and he did his best to stifle it. R'lon's eyes flicked briefly over to him. A'var pretended not to notice.

"Thank you," Farlor said. "Kerranis and I have been very excited for this for some time. The ceremony should actually be starting pretty soon; we were all heading up to the Hold, so if you're here for that and not just the racing, you'll want to join us."

"I wouldn't come for anyone else," A'var said, and it felt like the truth.

"Let's get on with it then," Farlor said, his still-blushing face breaking out into yet another wide smile.

The two dragonriders fell into step behind the now-grown boys and older men that A'var had known all his life. A'var flinched when R'lon took his hand, and immediately felt ashamed. Over three years in the Weyr, and suddenly he forgot all the confidence he'd gained in hardly three minutes back home. He squeezed R'lon's hand back and refused to let go until the very end of the wedding ceremony, when everyone stood and clapped for the newly married couple.

 

* * *

 

Farlor had never noticed Avarril when they were children. He'd been three years older and too interested in sneaking off to the stables in his spare time to pay attention to the awkward blond boy in the back of the classroom. But Avarril had noticed him, and somehow found himself daydreaming about what a friendship with the ever-popular Farlor would be like. When Avarril turned twelve and had to give some thought to where he might be apprenticed, it was that incessant daydreaming that spurred him to choose the Beastcrafthall.

Suddenly, Avarril and Farlor were spending almost day together in the stables and in classrooms, learning basic skills and helping keep the Hall running properly. Avarril did learn a lot, but his clearest memories were always the ones where Farlor was on his work detail. The first time he was allowed to help Farlor groom one of the mares, Avarril was certain his face was glowing red. And when Farlor touched his hand to demonstrate the proper motions, the skin there burned too.

Every smile Farlor sent his way made Avarril's heart swell like it was going to burst. A year went by, then two, and Avarril thought he could finally say Farlor was his friend. If things had gone on like that, he might have even told the other boy that he loved him. If Farlor hadn't fallen in love with Kerranis, Avarril might have had the chance to be turned down properly. Then he wouldn't have to feel his heart breaking, bit by bit, whenever he looked at Farlor's smiling face.

That's what he told himself.

 

* * *

 

A'var couldn't remember the last time he'd been so drunk. Actually, he didn't think he'd ever been so drunk. He just hadn't been able to help himself with Farlor sitting up at the table of honor with his new wife and the two other couples who'd exchanged vows that Gatherday. Kerranis was absolutely radiant, her intricately braided hair like sunshine wrapped around her head, and Farlor kept reaching up to brush loose tendrils of it out of her face. Every time he did, A'var's heart contracted. He could never resent his sister marrying Farlor—she'd been his closest sibling, the one he'd shared nearly everything with. But he couldn't stop his heart aching with every little touch, wishing it were him there.

So he found the vintner's stall, bought a skin or two of a cheap red wine, and began to drink.

R'lon found him much, much later as he wandered back in search of another skin, and practically had to carry him to a table. The light was dim and the music distant—a table far away from the dancing in the crowded courtyard. A'var was grateful for that. He would hate to give Igen Weyr a reputation for riders who got so drunk they couldn't fly back to their own weyr safely. Fenith was a quiet, worried presence in the back of his mind, and while he knew he would regret subjecting her to that later, at the moment all he cared about the odd, completely uncalled-for pain in his heart.

"Come on, A'var," R'lon said, pressing a rough mug into the greenrider's hand. "Drink this up. Just a few sips now."

"Can' believe you're actually givin' me more," A'var slurred. His fingers closed around the flagon's handle and he took a swig. He got half of it down before he sprayed the rest out over the table. "Wha' the hell 's this?"

"Water," R'lon said, "with some medicine in it to help sober you up sometime before next week."

The look R'lon was giving him was equal parts pity and disappointment. If the medicine didn't sober him, that look would. A'var looked away as R'lon settled himself in the chair next to him.

"Talk to me."

A'var shook his head.

"Tell me what you're feeling," R'lon tried again.

Pause.

"...you don't want me to do that," A'var said slowly.

"Let me guess then," R'lon said. "You just watched your first crush get married. Your still very attractive first crush, I might add. I'm going to go with old feelings reawakening just long enough to be crushed a second time."

A'var chuckled and fiddled with the still mostly-full mug in front of him.

"Spot on," he said. "And yet totally wrong."

He took a swig and grimaced. R'lon quirked an eyebrow.

"It would be so much easier if tha' was all it was," A'var continued. "If I could jus' give up all over again. But tha's the problem. I already gave up. I don' like him, so why do I still feel like...like..."

"Like your insides just got dragged out of you by a fishing hook?" R'lon offered.

A'var nodded miserably.

"That's just how it happens. In your head, it's all over, but your heart still remembers all those hours you spent wondering what it'd be like to touch him and kiss him and actually have him love you back."

The torchlight was just bright enough that, when A'var finalled looked over to catch R'lon's eye, the pain reflected there was clear.

"You too?" he asked.

"Yeah. It happens to everyone sooner or later, and there's really nothing you can do about it."

A'var caught R'lon's hand in his and squeezed gently.

"Does it ever stop?"

A long pause. R'lon held his gaze steadily and drew him into a kiss. Even then, he kept his eyes open, and when they finally quit, A'var realized that his heart was suddenly stuttering in a way that felt wonderful instead of painful for the first time that day.

"It does, with a little help," R'lon said, and pulled him into another kiss.

Up on the fireheights, Fenith curled into Miniath's side, and the two dragons resigned themselves to a night spent at the Hold. They didn't even mind the cold. Much like their riders, they found that a second body to lay beside staved off even the brisk night air.


End file.
